Hit and Miss
by girl in the glen
Summary: A bomb, a girl... so what else is new?


There was a buzz in the air that only live performances could generate. Illya was uncharacteristically animated as he and Napoleon made their way through the crowd of music lovers who had shown up for this singular night of entertainment.

As the blond surveyed the audience Napoleon was mentally tabulating the numbers, and along with that the potential for disaster if the reports were accurate.

"Illya, I don't see her anywhere. What about you? Is Stella here?" Illya's eyes were like blue lasers as he scanned the room for their missing heiress.

"She isn't in view, unless…' Something familiar in a young woman's affect made the Russian zoom in on her.

"There! She's wearing a wig or has changed her hair color. Napoleon… I do not think she has been forced into this. I see her body language with the man next to her and …" A sigh escaped that puzzled Solo only momentarily. Illya had spent time with Stella DaVinci before the supposed kidnapping occurred. Now it seemed that she was somehow involved with the scheme to defraud her grandfather of millions, all with the threat of her death and that of the hundred or so patrons in the Celebrity Club.

"Could it be Stockholm Syndrome? She might have been brainwashed into cooperating." Illya was still watching, unable to take his eyes off of the pretty girl he had thought might be someone he could spend time with… somehow, in the future.

"No, that is I… I don't think so. She seems very much in control of the situation.' He turned to look at his partner now, questions and accusations swirling in his brain.

"What did we miss? What associations did she have previous to this that weren't included in the file on Stella? We need to know, it might help us to figure out what they're using." Napoleon thought he heard a slight hint of desperation in his friend's voice. Illya didn't want to believe that Stella could be the villain, he was certain of that. But the situation was dire, and they needed some answers quickly.

Napoleon removed his communicator and spoke into it as discreetly as possible, considering the setting he was in. After a short conversation he returned his attention to Stella and the man at her side.

"Illya, if she is complicit in this, then how likely is it that she's willing to sacrifice herself along with this crowd?" Illya was stunned, he should have thought of that.

"I think you may be on to something. Perhaps the threat is merely that; a threat and nothing more. The cause here is political on the surface, but I did not get the impression that Stella was a believer in any particular cause.' He thought back on their conversations while she had been in their care, before her grandfather had removed her and taken her back to their home in the Hamptons.

"Perhaps I wasn't seeing the obvious; her disdain for the wealth accumulated by the DaVinci family, and their methods of doing so. Napoleon, she may indeed be willing to die for a cause. We have misjudged Stella, I fear."

The two agents watched then as Stella pulled a bundle from her purse and, with a deft move that surprised them both, attached it to the underside of the table. As she did so a courier from the elderly DaVinci placed a package by the side entrance, wrapped in bright red Christmas paper as instructed by the kidnapper.

Stella was on the move; she stood and held out a hand to her companion. As they did so, another couple sat in their place. The two couples looked identical from a distance.

"She's going to do it Napoleon, and she's put in someone else to take her place." Illya was running through the room, trying to catch up to the couple as they walked towards the exit. How badly had he misjudged Stella? She was going to set off a deadly explosive, possibly killing scores of people while she escaped with the money her grandfather had given for her in good faith.

Napoleon was on the communicator summoning help from Headquarters, who in turn notified the police. They couldn't let this plan succeed. As Illya headed for the exit Napoleon sought out a plan to empty the building. The band was already taking its place on stage, making it less likely that people would want to leave. Then it hit him.

Napoleon raced to the stage and grabbed the microphone from the hands of a man just seconds ahead of starting the set.

"Hey everyone, please don't panic but we have a small fire in the back of the house. If you'll just file out… there you go, just make it orderly and no one will get hurt." He saw Stella turn and look at him, a scowl on her face the only indication that she was found out.

Illya had taken the time to pick up the little bistro style table on his way to the side exit of the building, carrying it over his head as he made his way towards Stella and her partner. She was visibly shaken and worked at opening the door, succeeding only seconds before Illya reached it as well. He crashed into the door and threw the table, tackling Stella and the red package just as the bomb exploded inside the trash bin the table had landed in. The sheer luck involved did not go without comment when the reports were made to Mr. Waverly.

Stella was bruised and angry as she recovered from being tackled by the Russian. Her partner was unconscious, a victim of the blast. Illya felt his head pounding, unsure whether it was from the bomb blast or Stella's fists as she pummeled him repeatedly.

"You ruined it, you have ruined everything!" She was shouting at him, uncaring for the fact that he had actually saved her life by shielding her body with his. Although the bomb had landed inside the large dumpster, what blew from within it had landed atop the trio as they were knocked to the ground. Illya was bleeding, although he could not have said where or how much. Stella continued to shriek and punch, stopping only when Napoleon emerged through the battered stage door and pulled her off of his partner. Illya tried to raise up but his strength failed him. He slipped into unconsciousness to the sound of Stella's wailing voice.

The clean up involved hours of work for those involved, and both police and UNCLE personnel had their hands full as the site was examined for all the evidence they could gather. Stella was locked up after being checked out by a doctor; her partner was dead. The money package had served as a type of buffer between her and the fractures of metal and glass that had rained down on her and Illya.

Illya was lying in Medical after having been gone over with the precision of UNCLE's best medical personnel. Glass and metal shards had cut through his clothing, a large remnant of something inside the dumpster had left him with a concussion. His body ached from the impact, and burned from the antiseptic applied to all of the places where shrapnel had penetrated. Napoleon was nearby, discussing his partner's condition with the attending physician. Suddenly a loud voice began shouting in Russian. Waking up had been forceful for Illya, and he was never shy about expressing discomfort. At the moment he was very uncomfortable, and he wanted something done about it.

Two nurses, the doctor and Napoleon entered the room, each with a job to perform. Napoleon's was to try and calm his friend, to reassure him that all was well and that he would be fine and back to work in… well, about a week.

"A week?" The eyebrows rose into questioning expression, his voice inviting sympathy from the nurses who secretly relished their roles as they administered salve and sincere doses of lust all over the blond's naked body. _Tough work_ , they chided the other women on the Medical floor, but they wouldn't shirk their duty.

As for Illya, he resigned himself to getting through the ordeal, only partly molified concerning Stella when he learned she had confessed everything. She didn't ask about him though, seemed to have no concern for the man who had saved her life.

Illya decided to take him comfort from the nurses who continued to lather and dote, confident that his body deserved the adoration in light of the ill treatment it had received. He was, after all, a man who appreciated the attention of a pretty woman.

Napoleon was satisfied that his friend was, quite literally, in good hands as he left Headquarters. It was still early, and he knew a few ladies who didn't mind a last minute invitation.

In the end, it was _just another day_.


End file.
